


Boulevard of Broken Dreams

by DailyDaves



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DailyDaves/pseuds/DailyDaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael wakes up to the the grey skies of Austin, the world around him seeming to bleed out color and empty except for Gavin, who seems to just be part of this whole inside joke. Time moves slowly and with it, Michael grows increasingly frustrated. His mind circles the missing chunk of his memory over and over, restless as he watches Gavin fall into despair that he won’t explain and somehow, Michael feels it, too. Everything that happens, everything in the world leads Michael to one conclusion—</p><p>Something’s wrong.</p><p>Everything’s wrong. </p><p>And Michael can’t think clearly enough to figure out what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my beta MC who made getting this done actually possible. Also, to des and addie who put up with reading it <3
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> [Tumblr mirror!](http://burnvins.co.vu/post/85960413177/boulevard-of-broken-dreams-part-one)
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> [Content warnings](http://burnvins.co.vu/private/85885593282/tumblr_n5mo28jQly1so6fee) (extremely spoilery, don't read unless you have major triggers)

“Austin feels different.”

He didn’t remember this place. He didn’t know where he was or why he was here, and that was what his mind focused on, going over it again and again, searching for a reason, for a purpose, each time finding none, nothing coming to his head.

Gavin hummed against his shoulder, the sound reverberating against Michael’s skin, and he couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or acknowledgement that Michael had said something. He felt his breath on his neck, measured and rhythmic, fooling Michael into thinking he was asleep until he actually looked down to see Gavin wide awake and watching the sunset with green eyes.

“It looks different, too.”

“How?”

“I dunno,” Michael shifted so he was more comfortable sitting with Gavin leaning so much onto him. They looked out at the skyline together, and as Michael glanced around, he realized they were alone in what looked like a little park, watching as the sun dipped beneath the buildings of the city on the horizon, bathing everything in a sea of washed out pinks and oranges and purples, the set in of night seemingly moments away. No one was around, leaving Michael and Gavin sitting alone together on the park bench, the air around them eerily quiet and still.

His hand curled around Gavin’s waist, almost to its own accord, fitting easily against his hipbone, his thumb against the skin showing above the waistband of his jeans.

“Greyer,” He decided, never once taking his eyes off of the scene in front of him. “Less vibrant. Has it always been like this?”

He remembered Austin as a colorful, vibrant city with neon lights and a bright sunset, not as the washed-out, desaturated scene he saw in front of him. Everything was like that, from the park around to the sky above. It felt off, wrong, and it left Michael wondering if he’d just never noticed it before, as if he hadn’t ever looked closely enough to see it.

Gavin hummed against him again, not giving him a real answer, instead nuzzling against his neck. His nose pressed against his skin and Michael looked down again and saw that Gavin was as lively as ever. His green eyes were bright, staring off into the horizon, still very much alive and there, his tanned skin looking like the sun next to the nearly grey wood of the bench. He stuck out in the death of their surroundings, stark contrast against the dullness of everything else. He was just as sun-kissed and animated as Michael had always remembered him, sticking out in the midst of the gritty landscape.

He looked away from Gavin, instead glancing down at himself. It was the same way for him, too, the same brightness, the same energy he got from Gavin, but not anything else around them.

“Has it always been like this, Gavin?” There was panic edging at his voice, involuntary and inexplicable. His muscles had gone rigid, his shoulders tense, his back straight. He didn’t understand—he didn’t understand anything. It wasn’t even the different atmosphere. It was that there was no reason, there was no purpose and as time went on and Michael watched the sun barely move, he grew more and more restless. One moment it was because he didn’t know why he was here, the next it was the fact that he didn’t know _where_ he was, and then, finally it was—

He didn’t remember how he’d gotten here.

He didn’t remember ever coming here. He didn’t remember driving here. He didn’t remember why he was here or where he was or when he’d come here. He couldn’t remember anything. So many things were at just the edge of his memory, begging to be remembered, and he hit a block each and every time he tried to recall them. He didn’t remember Austin or moving here or where he’d lived before. He didn’t remember who he was or who Gavin was, even though it was there, pushing at him, pleading to be recalled.

He was Michael Jones.

He had no idea how old he was. He knew he had curly russet hair, freckles, brown eyes, and glasses. He also knew he was shorter than Gavin.

This was Gavin Free.

That much he knew. He also knew he was close to Gavin. Friends. And that Gavin could be really annoying and fucking stupid. There were a lot of things that irritated him about Gavin and he could name them all—he knew that, too. He knew Gavin; he knew himself. He just didn’t know who either of them were.

The last real memory he had was telling Gavin that Austin felt different, which had only been a few minutes ago.  That was where his life began, though he was completely positive there’d been something before. The shortness of his life, and the thought of it, the realization, sent hot sparks flying through him, irritation reaching down to his fingertips, making them curl against Gavin’s skin. This moment was his life—

“Nah,” Gavin sat up beside him, stretching and looking at Michael, his green the brightest

things Michael had seen in the world. “But does it matter?”

“Gavin—”

“Hm?”

Michael swallowed hard, an abrupt pause leaving him feeling cold, shivering from it, “I don’t remember.”

Something changed in Gavin. He stopped being the relaxed, carefree idiot Michael knew to associate him with, a dark air instead coming about him. Concern flickered deep in Gavin’s eyes as they narrowed slightly, his grin falling from his lips in an instant, eyebrows furrowing together. The sharp angles of Gavin’s body froze, gears stopping mid turn, all bouts of carefreeness and relaxation leaving him as if it hadn’t actually been there all along. His lips pursed together and then he opened his mouth, as if to say something and then didn’t, struck wordless by Michael’s simple confession.

“You don’t remember what?” There was no shock in his voice, only worry, his words laced with concern. It was obvious they didn’t share this problem, which led Michael only to wonder more about what was going on and what had happened before.

It made him hesitant to answer, pausing and just looking at Gavin before switching his gaze to the ground, “Nothing beyond this bench.”

Gavin sat back, a dark sigh coming from him, running a hand through his messy hair, not even looking at Michael anymore. He slumped against the back of the bench, his face in a deep-set frown that Michael saw before he hunched himself over and hid his face in his hands, sighing again, his exhale sounding something like Michael’s name. The surprise disappeared into something that looked like acceptance, Michael noted as he looked back at the ground.

After a few minutes of listening for Gavin to say something, not knowing what to do or how to react to the look he’d seen on Gavin’s face, the man beside him finally glanced up, focusing on the sunset in the distance, “It doesn’t matter.”

Gavin said it like it was a fact. Indisputable and unchallengeable, something that could not be contested or changed. So Michael took it as is. Gavin no longer seemed shocked by Michael’s memory. It couldn’t be that big of an issue. There were other things to think about, other things to do.

It was time to move on in more ways than one. Something urged at him, something hidden deep, deep in his mind.

“Let’s go home, Michael,” Gavin told him, getting up from the park bench and offering a hand out to him. Their palms pressed against each other, Gavin’s hand warm and wholly, completely, _there_ in his own.

There, even when other things really weren’t.

He didn’t know the apartment they ended up back at. The walk had been a blur, the time passing incomprehensible to Michael. Neither of them spoke the entire way, the silence between them reflected in the empty roads and flickering streetlights. The city felt absent, full of buildings that reached into the night skies and places that reminded him of memories he couldn’t recall, completely vacant and empty, holding a potential for life but instead leaving a city of ghosts in its wake.

It felt like it haunted him, making him unable to stop staring at the darkened windows of shops and bars and homes. Every building caught his eyes, the surprise at the emptiness never subsiding; making him want desperately to get out, to go home. Everything felt off and he knew it, but couldn’t correct it, knowing right from wrong but not remembering what, exactly, was right in the first place.

The building was in a place he didn’t remember, but Gavin taking him up the steps to the complex felt familiar, and he could almost—just almost—take the lead. He didn’t, though, but he knew the way Gavin took him, leading him down the halls to ‘home’, a door to an apartment in the empty complex.

He stopped, hand on the door before Gavin could get to it first. Michael turned towards Gavin and looked him straight in the eyes. Gavin didn’t do anything for a moment, looking distracted, as if he were there, but just not with Michael.  

The number on the door was familiar to him, the place he was standing feeling as though he’d been here a thousand times, and yet, it was strange and uncomfortable. The lights in the hallways of the complex were out, the only light being from moonlight behind them, casting their shadows on the door, leaving them in almost complete darkness. It was as if the building had suddenly been abandoned, as if every other tenant had left and Michael was the only person living in it anymore.

Gavin didn’t live here. He didn’t live with Michael. Michael had lived alone. He knew that, standing here with him. This wasn’t Gavin’s home. And yet, Michael wanted him here. More than anything, he wanted him here. He didn’t want Gavin out alone in the cold and despondent world. He wanted him here, alone with Michael. He wanted his warmth, his liveliness, his color. He didn’t want to be alone, and from what he knew about Gavin, he wouldn’t want that, either.

“Stay,” The word came out of him suddenly, the first thing spoken since their walk here, feeling deafening in the silence of the rest of the world. It wasn’t a question or an order. It was a statement.

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, Michael,” Gavin looked down and smiled, a genuine smile and none of the mischievous grins and smirks he could easily imagine on Gavin’s face. He met Michael’s eyes a second later, raising his head from where he’d been looking at the floor. His smile seemed private, something Michael shouldn’t be seeing. Something he didn’t deserve to see.

“Good,” Michael’s hand tightened on the door handle and he felt the corners of his lips twitch upward and hoped Gavin couldn’t see it. “I hate the way you say my name. Asshole.”

  “I know,” That smile turned into a full-on grin, and for some reason, it felt more natural, like he’d seen that same shit-eating grin too many times to count. “You’ve told me before.”

“Yeah? Good. Maybe eventually you’ll start saying it right,” Their banter felt natural and the more he talked to Gavin, the more he felt like himself. He definitely hadn’t before, panicked and scared and feeling alone in a world he didn’t remember.

There was a beat of breath between them, and for the first time, looking at Gavin, the silence didn’t hurt his ears and didn’t resonate off the walls of the empty complex. It was filled with something else, a moment in which he shared a connection with Gavin, where Michael felt something else pushing at him to be realized, and for once it wasn’t a memory. It was something entirely different and Michael tried to reach out for it. The moment he forced himself forward, trying to grasp it, his back hit the hard door to the apartment, slamming against it and his hands were suddenly grabbing at Gavin’s hair, at his shoulders, at his arms, at anything to pull him closer.

He clutched Gavin’s hair in both his hands, fingers tangled in it, pulling at it, Gavin’s arms wrapped around his back in a near crushing grip. He yanked harshly at the hair between his fingers, begging for him to stay like this, to not go. He was warm against Michael, the heat of his hands burning through the fabric of his jeans, his lips on Michael’s feeling like they could easily set him aflame. A match had been struck the moment Gavin slammed him against the door, igniting a fire that was burning the two of them alive, violent and passionate.

(Lights flew at him, bright and white and coming straight at him behind his closed eyelids and were curling around his hips, under his shirt, resting against the small of his back and his lips were against Michael’s and in that moment, he knew it was everything he’d ever dreamed of and the lights were white and coming straight at him and Michael was nothing more than a deer in headlights—)

His nails dug into Gavin’s shoulders and he was unsure of when he’d stopped pulling at Gavin’s hair. He kissed Gavin as hard as Gavin pressed against him, the fire between them burning tenfold and the door behind him ice in comparison. Colors blossomed behind his eyelids, vibrant and blooming, so much unlike the greyscale of everything else, making him feel _here_ , at home, existing for what felt like the first time in his life.

It made him feel a part of this reality, rather than the floating, confused way he’d been carrying on . Gavin had grounded him. Every part of him was suddenly alive with that fire, his fingertips seared with it, hot with the charged energy between them.

Michael was breathless when he finally had to pull away, and his hard breathing was echoed in Gavin’s. He could feel Gavin’s heart racing through his shirt, faster than Michael’s own quick one, and his green eyes were wide, his mouth half open, looking shocked at himself and shocked at Michael and shocked at everything around him. They stayed like that, Michael’s hands on Gavin’s shoulders, Gavin’s wrapped around his back, stuck in the moment. He didn’t want to move, not wanting to pull the heat between them, not wanting to go back to that shitty half-here feeling.

Gavin was the first to move and to Michael’s own surprise, it wasn’t to pull away from him. Instead, Gavin threw himself forward, until Michael had to wrap his arms around his chest to support him, to hold him up, Gavin’s legs seeming to have buckled under him. His head rested on Michael’s shoulder, his nose against the nape of his neck, his body miles of limp long limbs sagging against him.

He didn’t know how long he held Gavin like that. The relative time had dragged, holding Gavin up with ease, not letting him fall to the ground like gravity wanted it to be. At some point, he craned his neck to reveal Gavin biting his bottom lip, his eyes wide open and welcoming, just like everything else was.

“You alright?” Michael dared to ask, whispering into the dead air of the empty hallways, almost afraid of what other ears were around to hear it besides Gavin’s. He didn’t know what terrified him more—the prospect that there was no one around to hear or that there was someone besides them.

Gavin pulled away from him, grinning that stupid, shitty grin Michael had seen earlier, “Top, Michael. Sorry about that. Let’s go in.”

There were no more questions, though Michael had millions burning at the tip of his tongue. Gavin had just lost it, falling slack against Michael in what almost seemed like fear and desperation. Maybe—just maybe—Gavin wasn’t alright. Maybe everything wasn’t fine. Maybe it really _did_ matter. But Michael said none of those things, simply following Gavin through the door of his own apartment, leaving silence in his wake.

2:07 AM.

It was raining when Michael had woken up, and the clock hadn’t changed since, despite Michael having been able to count out at least a hundred and eighty seconds. The sheets felt cold, Michael’s feet freezing until he pushed them back, quickly finding Gavin to rest them against, warming himself against his skin. He stared at the clock, listening to Gavin typing on Michael’s laptop beside him, his breathing and restless fingers providing a comforting background noise that Michael had easily fallen asleep to earlier.

Type. Pause. Type. Pause. Rustling as Gavin shifted himself closer to Michael. More typing. It was a rhythm Michael was grateful for, a break to the silence he was beginning to hate with every bit of his being. He couldn’t even begin to imagine it if Gavin had actually gone back to his home, rather than staying here. In the end, with as almost annoyingly restless as Gavin was, he was glad he had him here.

The clock eventually turned, though it was after countless more seconds Michael had spent mulling over in his head. When it did, he rolled over, his interest in the clock gone, instead meeting the glare of the laptop screen, bright and blinding, making him have to squint to make anything out. Gavin stopped typing, looked down at Michael and for the first time, Michael could’ve sworn he saw bags around Gavin’s eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“Everything alright?” Michael asked him, pressing himself close against Gavin’s hip.

Gavin hummed again, looking back at the screen, only giving him a real answer a few moments later, “Dan deleted his twitter.”

Michael pushed himself up on his elbows, raising a surprised eyebrow at Gavin’s remark, “Holy shit, really?”

Gavin’s expression didn’t change and he continued to stare at the screen, his hands on the keys, unmoving, “You remember Dan?”

“Yeah. Sorta.”

He did. The name had jogged his memory a bit. Gavin was from England and he had a friend from back home whom he did an internet show with. The guy was pretty important to him, which Michael could tell from looking at him now.

“I—He might just be mad at me or something. Dunno.”

“Weird,” Michael commented. “Doesn’t seem like something he’d do.”

Gavin made a sound of agreement and nodded. Michael instantly felt a pang of sympathy for him. He didn’t know why—there wasn’t much for him to be sad about. He knew Gavin and his friend were close and them fighting was odd to consider. But that didn’t make it _sad_ , the pang of sorrow he felt for Gavin out of place, and Michael lingered on it for a long moment, struggling with himself, eventually letting the emotion dissolve.

This wasn’t him. This being—this wasn’t him. He wasn’t talking normally. He wasn’t feeling normally. He wasn’t even thinking normally. He wasn’t Michael Jones. Everything he did felt unnatural, like he was walking on a cloud, floating through time, and he hated it. He wanted his personality back. He wanted to be his true self again, not whoever this was. Gavin had said earlier that his lack of memories didn’t matter, and Michael had taken it as a fact of life, since he hadn’t wanted to panic about it anymore. But now—it _did_ matter. It did matter, and it mattered a whole fucking lot. Because he wasn’t himself. He was some distorted, weird concept.

He felt it then, as the sympathy disappeared, the uncomfortably hot burning that clouded his head, anger at his situation, unnerving and uncontrollable since he could do nothing to change it now. He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. He wanted to do a lot of things. But he didn’t, since Gavin leaned over, shoving the computer halfway onto Michael’s lap.

“I want to show you something,” He said, the screen pulled up to a photo where Michael could see a himself and Gavin together, Gavin looking blearily at the camera with red cheeks and an carefree look, Michael with his arm around him, looking about half as drunk as Gavin was. Gavin was flanked by a tall dark-haired man, who was grinning, clearly inebriated, at the man beside him. An older guy with a ridiculously handlebar mustache was next to Michael, looking fake annoyed.

“Shit.”

The word came out of his mouth before the rest of his mind caught up.

(white lights, white lights, white lights)

A bar. They were in a bar. Dan, Gavin, Michael, Geoff. Last night. The music was loud. Really loud. And he had his arm around Gavin’s waist and everything was alright with the world. Flashes of memory barraged him, quick and loud and carrying the stench of alcohol and buzz of warmth, blinding him and making him see the red lights of the bar and the flash of familiar green eyes and Gavin spilling his drink all over himself and Michael leaning over to lick it off his lips, hearing the following supporting jeer from Dan and the sigh of irritation from Geoff.

He’d kissed him, then, in a flurry of drunken stupor that made it impossible to stop him from what he’d wanted to do for so long, and Gavin had kissed him back, under the rosy lights of the bar, his lips tasting like booze and his skin smelling of it, too.

He remembered. He remembered everything from that night. He remembered the taste of Gavin’s mouth, the joking congratulations from Dan and the comment of ‘fucking _finally_ ’ from Geoff. He remembered taking this photo and he remembered posting it to twitter and he remembered kissing Gavin again and again, promising himself that he wasn’t going to let it go when he was sober. He remembered going to the bar after work, after the podcast, accompanied by a visiting Dan and a bored Geoff, and Lindsay and Barbara had come at some point in the night, too, and the music that had played and all the things he’d done in that night and how he’d felt.

—So why the fuck was he here?

Why was he here, here in this place he barely recognized? He hadn’t left the fucking bar. He could say that for sure, because he knew he hadn’t, and Michael Jones trusted his own goddamn memory. They’d been at the bar long after night had fallen, even though he’d watched the sunset with Gavin in the empty park. It’d only been a few hours. The alcohol should’ve been just wearing off now. But he was completely sober, completely grounded, his mind clear.

Not enough time had passed. That night in the bar had still been last night. He couldn’t see it as any different—not enough time passing on his bodily clock to be anything other than last night. It’d fucking _been_ last night. Things didn’t add up—they didn’t add up at all and the more Michael thought about it, the less sense it made.

(white lights, white lights, pain—pain—pain.)

“What the fuck.”

He was breathing hard again, staring at the photo on the laptop screen, feeling as though he couldn’t get enough goddamn air in his lungs.

“I don’t—” He was running his mouth, speaking before he could think it through, anything and everything coming out all at once, his thoughts and words combining until they became one question, "I don't fucking understand"

“I know,” He’d almost forgotten Gavin was there and upon hearing him, Michael jumped, leaping to his feet at the side of his bed, feeling the carpet beneath his feet, cold air rush at him, feeling panicked and afraid and angry all at once. His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into palms. Gavin did nothing but stare at him with wide eyes, obviously surprised at his reaction, his face illuminated by the computer screen.

“No— _Fuck_. We were at the bar, Gavin,” His voice was anything but calm, rising into a yell, each word louder than the next until he was screaming full force into the open air and penetrating thin walls of his apartment. “We were at the bar! We went there after the podcast! Dan and Geoff came with and I—I kissed you and we drank together! Last night! We work together and we play video games for a living and we went out last night! I remember, Gavin—I fucking remember—I remember and I still don’t understand a goddamn thing—”

Frustrated tears streaming down his face, he stopped.  His screams dying out as he looked into the room, everything bathed in a blue-grey light, nothing as he remembered it and still, somehow, the imprint of his apartment remained. In the moonlight and the darkness, Gavin was the only thing with any saturation, everything else washed-out and dyed grey and blue, dull and boring against Gavin’s green eyes and vibrant colors. The room was cold, goose-bumps rising on his skin as the chill hit him, the air freezing and the heat of anger leaving him in a flurry as the atmosphere seemed to suck any and all warmth from him. He was mad, furious, and now suddenly, he wasn’t. He wasn’t fucking angry—he was confused. He was goddamn _cold_ and _confused_ and he just wanted things to make sense again.

“—I just want to understand,” He hissed it through his teeth, his voice breaking, slowly becoming the Michael Jones he knew he was, his own personality returning to him. He hated being left in the dark without knowing was going on, without full understanding of his situation. It sucked a whole fucking lot and it just frustrated him more and more by the second until he exploded into either a flurry of screaming and yelling or him just forcing himself into emotional numbness so that it _didn’t_ matter to him anymore.

Gavin shut the laptop; setting it to the side of the bed, shading the rest of the room in darkness, save for the moonlight shining through the balcony windows. He didn’t have to say anything, Michael instead collapsing onto the bed, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Gavin’s now measured breathing.

He felt the bed dip and heard the sheets rustle, the springs groaning as Gavin moved himself towards Michael, until his hands were on either side of Michael’s head and he was leaning down, Michael’s arms reaching up to wrap around his neck as he kissed him. The same rush from before hit him again, a wave of emotions and wants, drowning him.

He moved his lips against Gavin’s, arms wrapped around his neck, slowly pulling himself up into a sitting position, never breaking away from him. Gavin’s hands were on his hips, holding Michael against him, everything gentler and much less urgent than before, though each moment was infused with confusion. He kissed Gavin, releasing every emotion he had in him, allowing himself to feel Gavin’s hands on him, his thumbs rubbing the skin just above his waistband. Gavin’s heart beat fast, and Michael could almost hear it thundering in his ears, feeling it through two layers of clothing as he pressed up against him, wanting nothing more than to just curl into him and disappear.

They moved apart eventually, Michael breathing hard. Gavin leaned further against him, laying his head on Michael’s chest, head above his heart and arms slung on either side of him. He was warm. Shortly after,  Michael found himself lying with Gavin that way, his head tucked under Michael’s chin, Michael’s hands weaving through his messy hair, limbs in a tangle under the blankets.

He threaded his hands through Gavin’s hair, counting each beat of his heart, nearly asleep when he heard Gavin softly murmur, “I don’t understand, either.”

He dreamt that night of blood red and angel’s wings and startled awake several times in the night to a world of phantom pain, only to be comforted by soothing whispers and kisses against his collarbone, luring him back into that very same place.

It was fucking _bright_.

No—It was really fucking bright and it was _horrible_ and Michael wanted to just roll over and go back to sleep.

He couldn’t, though, because the spot beside him was empty, Gavin gone from the bed. From the running water in the other room, he was still there, apparently in the shower, and as Michael listened to the water turn off, he was surprised he hadn’t woken up earlier.

He managed to doze off again, despite the bright morning light streaming in from the windows, the rhythm of rain hitting the roof of the apartment putting him back to sleep, and he woke up to the sound of Gavin back in the room, pulling his clothes on.

“—The hell are you doing, Gavin?” He growled, still half asleep, rolling onto his back so he could watch Gavin with half-open eyes. He was in the middle of pulling his jeans back on and froze before looking up to grin at Michael.

“Don’t smile at me with your pants half off.”

Gavin just grinned more, “Would you rather me smile at you with my pants all the way off?”

Michael groaned at Gavin’s sore attempt at flirting, too exhausted from having a rough night to respond with any amount of sarcasm, instead managing a, “Shut the fuck up.”

Gavin continued to get dressed, Michael still partially watching him, growing more and more awake as he wondered what Gavin was doing. He couldn’t be going in to work—he hadn’t woken Michael up for it. It had to be too early or maybe it was the weekend or—no, yesterday had been podcast day. Monday. Hadn’t it? He’d done the podcast with Gavin, went to the bar and then what? Everything had come back to him last night when Gavin had showed him the photo and now—now everything felt blurry again and Michael was tired and wanted to sleep more and wanted Gavin to come back to bed.

“I’m going out for a bit, Michael,” Gavin told him as he pulled his dark grey sweatshirt over his head. He sounded oddly serious, unlike before with his horrible attempt at flirting. “I’ll be back soon. Get some more rest while I’m gone.”

Michael pushed himself up on his elbows, fixing Gavin with a questioning stare, “Where you going?”

“Just for a walk. Might head over to Geoff’s for a bit and stop by the office. I’ll be back before noon,” Gavin turned away from him, heading towards the door before stopping and waiting for Michael to say something.

“See you soon, Gav. Tell Geoff I said hi.”

Gavin smiled back at him, “Yeah, yeah.”

He tried to sleep more after Gavin left. He honestly did. He was still exhausted and worn out from—from what, he didn’t even know. But he was exhausted. He tried to sleep, tossing and turning in the bed after Gavin left, unable to get comfortable or close his eyes for long enough to sleep. Eventually, he just gave up, not even giving the clock a glance, frustrated with himself and with everything around him.

He made his way to the living room and stood in the doorway, looking out into a room that was  similar to what he remembered but not quite right. Last night he hadn’t looked at the room. He hadn’t recognized it. He hadn’t remembered anything. Last night he’d barely known his own name, before Gavin had showed him the photo. He didn’t know how much he’d forgotten or how he’d forgotten it or even _why_ , but it bothered him. It bothered him a lot, because the prospect of suddenly forgetting everything and the realization that things were getting blurry again, memories fuzzy and hard to reach, was fucking _terrifying._

The room was ultimately the same, everything generally the same as Michael had left it, but something about it made it feel emptier. It was home. His apartment. But it was less bright, less warm, less of… his home. He was on the outside looking in on a place he didn’t know, a place that was unfamiliar, a place he didn’t want to be by himself  in. Honestly, it was ridiculous. This was the place he’d lived for years and for it to make him uncomfortable—it annoyed him a lot.

He tried to shake the feeling from himself, stepping foot onto the cold hardwood floor of his living room, almost immediately flopping onto the couch thereafter. He didn’t feel like doing anything. Actually—lying on the couch wrapped up in blankets sounded like a great idea. He could wait for Gavin to come home, since he really had nothing else to do but that. He didn’t feel like going out and not even Gavin was headed into work today, though Michael couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t linger on that, his mind refusing to let him do so, the blurriness returning and Michael too exhausted to stop it.

Instead, he flipped on the television, turning on a news channel and letting it play in the background as he watched through half-open eyes, listening to groundbreaking stories about what had recently happened in Austin. A murder, a drug ring busted, a horrible car crash—it was all the same and even in this state, it bored him. It bored him and he didn’t want to listen to it anymore, ending up instead putting in a movie, a shitty one he’d watched with Gavin weeks ago.

He didn’t fall asleep, instead actually watching the whole fucking thing, not paying enough attention to hear footsteps coming up the hall.

The next thing he knew, the door was flying open and then slammed shut so loudly it rivaled even Michael’s screaming. It rattled the entire apartment, shaking the screen that was playing the credits, making Michael jump out of his seat, ears still ringing from the sound, standing wrapped in blankets and facing Gavin.

Gavin looked like someone he’d never seen before.

Gavin had an expression on his face, a look in his eyes that Michael never could’ve imagined on him.

He stared right back at Michael, his drenched hair hanging in his face, his eyes narrowed in what Michael could tell was clear anger. His hands were fisted at his sides, his entire body tense. He was breathing hard, not saying a word, everything about him screaming _rage_. He was angry, and he was angry in a way that Michael had never seen before, a way that Michael had only ever experienced when he got too worked up, but multiplied by ten. Gavin was angry in a way he’d never thought anybody could be ever, and it scared him.

Michael was the first to move and he did so without thought, shifting almost as soon as Gavin did, dashing in front of the doorway. Gavin stopped in front of him, all that rage focused on Michael, and he was suddenly left wishing he’d never moved to block him.

“Get out of my way, Michael.”

His voice was tight, strained, monotone. Michael didn’t move.

“Michael.”

He still didn’t, not taking a defensive stance, his heart beating fast in his ears.

“Michael!” He was whispering now, and it nearly made Michael cringe, having never heard Gavin break and use that tone out of anger. “I saw Dan and Geoff _cry_ today, Michael. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

He moved, and the next thing he heard was the door to the bedroom slamming harder than the front door had, the screech of bed springs as Gavin threw himself down on it, and a loud, shrill, muffled scream as Gavin shrieked into the pillows left on the bed, his screams wordless and high-pitched, and full of previously hidden frustration, anger, and sorrow.

He screamed. He screamed until his voice dissolved into curses and coughs and then he hit things. Michael could hear him, still frozen, powerless in the living room, as Gavin seemingly tore through drawers and broke every piece of glass he could find and punched the wall over and over again.

It hurt to listen to. It broke his heart. He didn’t know why Gavin was frustrated, why he was angry, what had made him angry when he was out. It didn’t add up—Geoff and Dan didn’t cry in the first place, and why that would make Gavin go into a fit of rage didn’t make sense. But right now, it wasn’t about things making sense. It was about the fact that Gavin was alone and screaming until his voice was hoarse and probably hurting himself unintentionally by breaking things, and there was nothing Michael could do about it.

So instead, he just listened. He listened to the plaster of the wall breaking. He listened to glass shattering. He listened to Gavin’s shrieks. He listened to everything, sitting there alone in the living room, waiting for the noise to die down, waiting for Gavin to calm down.

It was sudden when he did. There was glass breaking, a shout of pain, and then a thud.

That was when Michael went to him, finding him in his own trashed bedroom. Blankets and sheets were torn to shreds, everything pulled out of his drawers and strewn on the ground, pieces of broken glass, mostly mirrors, scattered everywhere, holes in the walls. It was a fucking disaster. He picked his way to the private bathroom, finally finding a still damp Gavin kneeling on the bathroom tile, clenching the wrist attached to his bloodied hand, the large wall mirror shattered, leaving a hole in the middle the size of Gavin’s fist.

“You broke the mirror,” Michael said, his voice soft. Gavin looked up at him, nodding slowly, coming down from whatever fit of rage he had. “You punched it?”

“Yeah,” Gavin muttered. “Sorry… Michael. I’m bleeding.”

He could see it was making Gavin sick to look at his own blood from the way he was pausing to gag and cough. Silently, he pulled him to his feet, Gavin limp and pliant under his hands, washing the cuts and pulling glass from his skin, bandaging them carefully. Afterwards, they slowly put the bedroom back together, and Gavin apologized again, leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder as they sat on the couch together when they finished.

“What happened?” Michael dared to ask before he forgot, before they turned on some dumb movie and didn’t talk about this.

“I saw Dan and Geoff cry today,” Gavin answered instantly, Michael able to feel each word against his neck. He didn’t expect Gavin to go on, but he did, speaking quietly, “Everyone cried, really. But Dan and Geoff—I’ve seen Geoff cry before. When he married Griffon and when his daughter was born. But never Dan.”

“I—” Michael didn’t know what to say to that, his mind a flurry of confusion and sympathy, wanting to give Gavin all the comfort he had, but not knowing how to, not when he didn’t know what, exactly had happened. So, instead, he just asked his first question again. “What happened?”

Gavin nuzzled his neck and he barely caught his next words, as broken as the hallway mirror, “Doesn’t matter.”

They didn’t talk about it again.

It wasn’t because Michael didn’t want to or because he forgot. It was because Gavin obviously didn’t want to talk about it.  So they didn’t. Michael didn’t bring it up, the way Gavin had screamed and broken nearly everything he could get his hands on still fresh in his mind. He didn’t talk about it, and Gavin slowly came back to him until he and Michael were arguing over video games back and forth as they always did.

Sunset fell, after what felt like more hours than were supposed to be in the day at all, and after too many rounds of games with him, Gavin stood up from where he was curled up next to Michael on the couch, stretching and hesitating a second before announcing that he was leaving again.

“Hey, Michael. I’m gonna take a walk. I’ll be back soon; I’m just gonna go check up on some stuff.”

“You’re going to make sure Geoff and Dan are alright?” Michael guessed, idly playing with the buttons on the controller, almost uneasy as he looked up at Gavin.

“Yeah. Won’t be too long. See you soon.”

Michael nodded and Gavin was out the door a second later, and Michael could hear his footsteps padding down the hallway, away from him. He watched him leaving, knowing that Gavin would come back, but still feeling the loneliness start to make its way into him. All that was left to do was sit and wait for Gavin to come back home and find something to do with himself in the meantime.

He was restless. He didn’t know what to do. The couch was a mess of games and controllers and blankets strewn around it, but it didn’t seem appealing, not when Michael was alone. He paced the apartment, wanting Gavin back with him, feeling empty and agitated without him. He wanted to call him, to send him a text, to just have _some_ sort of contact with him, but—

Actually—

Where the fuck was his phone?

He hadn’t seen the damn thing in what felt like days and he hadn’t paid any attention to it. He was probably overloaded with calls from people and texts asking about him. He felt like he’d been cooped up in the apartment for longer than he had. Honestly, it felt like _weeks_ , rather than just a day. He hadn’t actually left the apartment today and for some reason, he had no desire to, nor did he have any desire to go look for his phone other than to call Gavin.  He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Something tugged at him, reminding him that he _should_ care, that the fact that he hadn’t seen anyone _should_ matter, that he shouldn’t just pass over it without giving it much thought, but he didn’t, instead ignoring it.

He didn’t like it when Gavin wasn’t here. He didn’t like being alone with his thoughts. It was cold and dark and being alone just accentuated that, making Michael more aware of himself than before. Honestly, he felt like shit. He felt like absolute _shit_. He was hungry and tired and starved of contact, even though it’d only been a few minutes since Gavin had left, and all he’d done was sit and wait for him to come back, rather than do anything actually productive.

He paced the floor, tense and without purpose, trying to shake the way he was tight with stress but ultimately failing to do so. He didn’t even know what he was stressed about, continuing to pace, back and forth and back and forth and—

No. He actually did know what he was stressed about. It was crystal clear and right in fucking front of him, a sudden moment of pure clarity bringing it back to him, the cloud clearing from his head, letting him actually, really think.

There was something wrong.

No, again. There was _a lot_ of things wrong. Everything was wrong. Everything was wrong and nothing felt real, from the chill that had goose-bumps rising on his skin to the way he looked at his own apartment as if it were a stranger’s home. It even _felt_ wrong. His memory was missing, as he’d figured out last night. He’d somehow gone from being drunk at a bar with Gavin close to midnight to being completely sober in an empty unfamiliar park with him. There was a huge piece of information that was gone, missing from his memory, and somehow in the gap of memory, everything had gone wrong.

Even Gavin was acting strangely. He hadn’t quite noticed it until now, but he was. He never knew Gavin to stay in one place for so long, even if he had left a couple times. Gavin was fleeting and restless. He needed the contact of other people and he always needed to be doing _something._ It didn’t add up—Gavin hated being alone and yet, the only time he’d left the apartment today was to go out  and return by himself. For him to stay in one place for so long, with just Michael to keep him company, it was fucking _weird_.

Even worse was all this ‘It doesn’t matter’ bullshit. Gavin was goddamn annoying with that. He didn’t talk about his problems, and Michael could easily recall multiple occasions where he’d had to drag it out of him unwillingly. He was outwardly carefree and let things go because he claimed he didn’t want to be bothered by it, but was the complete opposite on the inside. But even this was odd for him. It did matter and Gavin was letting it show, with that screaming fit he had earlier. He was bothered a lot and wasn’t trying to hide it, though he still refused to tell Michael what it was, passing it off with a simple ‘it doesn’t matter’.

Which brought up another point. Michael had been letting it go without a second thought, taking his word for it, even when everything else screamed that it _did_ matter. Something was wrong with him. Something was wrong with him more than  was wrong with Gavin and more than was wrong with everything else. He wasn’t trying to get the truth  out of Gavin. He wasn’t trying to figure out what was going on. He wasn’t doing anything, instead letting everything pass by him and just accepting it.

The missing memories, the dullness of everything, the weird passage of time, the empty streets, the lack of desire to leave his apartment, his clouded mind, what Gavin had said earlier, Gavin, Gavin, Gavin, himself—

(He closed his eyes and could still see the white lights, and he felt small and powerless and there were fingers gripping him, only to shove him away.)

Everything was wrong. Everything was _so fucking wrong_.

(And then there was pain. Nothing but pain.)

He wanted to scream. He wanted to shriek like he’d heard Gavin do today. Had it really been today? Somewhere, he felt his entire body crumple to the ground and everything hurt, his eyes clenched shut. Pain shot up his spine, sparking his nerves, his muscles aching. He couldn’t move, his heart thundering in his chest, his head felt like it was going to cave in on itself. He couldn’t even open his eyes, everything refusing to respond, and he’d never felt pain like this in his entire life. His blood was on fire, burning him from the inside out, lighting his body up and blackening his skin to a crisp.

He wanted to scream for help, but he knew his body wouldn’t let him.

(He heard his body break.)

He screamed, anyways, but he didn’t hear it, shaking and shrieking and weeping for help, and somewhere he heard the slam of the front door hitting the wall and footsteps rushing over to him and he wondered where and who he was.

It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter.

(white lights, white lights, white lights)

He screamed more, his skin on fire, and he trembled, holding his ears in an attempt to get the roaring in them to stop, his heart thundering above it, his eyes still clenched shut, and he saw nothing but darkness and short bursts of white lights, blinding him and coming closer with each passing second. He struggled to pull his knees in, everything screaming in protest for him not to as he tried to curl further into himself. Hands were grabbing at him, shaking him, burning his nerves as they touched him, pain flaring out with each grab, and he wanted nothing more than to fight them off and just curl up here, on the floor, and wait the pain out, barely able to move and hardly able to make sense of what was what.

He was shaken violently, the hands off of him now, his body convulsing to its own accord. He tried to move, trying to reach up and claw at the hands he knew were still there, waiting to grab at him again, his body not working right.

There was a voice, saying his name softly in his ears, hands no longer forcibly grabbing him, instead holding his arms, warm and gentle and pulling him towards them. Fingers ran through his curls and then they were on his face, taking his glasses off of him, brushing against his skin. The voice was getting closer and eventually, Michael had returned to his body enough to place it as Gavin’s; Gavin’s voice soothing him in his ears, his arms wrapped around him, Michael’s head in his lap.

The pain was fading fast, and he struggled to remember what had brought it on, what he’d been trying to recall when he’d collapsed. It’d been important and it was still there, still fresh in his mind, but with Gavin’s voice in his ears and his warmth surrounding him, he couldn’t reach it, feeling it at the tips of his fingers, but never able to grasp out for it.

His head was still pounding, but the rest of his body was fine, the pain from before gone, barely leaving any soreness in its wake. His breathing eventually evened out and he stopped shaking and though darkness still surrounded him, he somehow found the strength to roll himself over and reach out to grab at Gavin’s sweatshirt, balling the material in his hands and pulling him towards him, trying to make things seem real again.

The warmth he felt from Gavin was definitely real. So was the fabric he was clawing at. Gavin was real. Gavin was solid, a familiar reality that he knew. Gavin was real and Gavin was here, with him, and holding Michael together in the darkness of the apartment. His vision slowly came back to him and he was able to raise his head enough to see Gavin staring back at him, bathed in dull oranges and reds that seemed to be the norm now, green eyes huge and filled with concern and shock and confusion. He was obviously as much at a loss as Michael was about what had just happened.

Michael didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know where to begin, how to explain himself. So, instead, he said the one thing that had stuck in his mind, the one thing he had grasped onto and managed to carry through the whole thing, “Something’s wrong.”

Gavin continued to look down at him, locking eyes with him, “Everything’s wrong, Michael.”

 

“You should rest.”

The apartment was lit, the sun still setting outside, draping everything in darkness. Gavin had flipped on the lights in the apartment, giving life to Michael’s home, making it bright and vibrant for what seemed like the first time since the previous night. It was finally starting to feel like his actual home, with Gavin clumsily messing around in the kitchen and the low noise of the television in the background, as well as whatever shitty music Gavin had put on. It was nice. Not to mention strangely domestic. He could get used to having Gavin here all the time.

They hadn’t talked about it, either. Gavin had done everything he could’ve, comforting Michael until he was alright again and forcing him to lie down for a while. Afterwards, they’d made dinner and ate together, never discussing what had happened, instead returning to their usual banter and arguments, everything else quickly slipping Michael’s mind. His head still pounded, the memory of the pain and the attack of whatever-the-fuck still right there in his mind, but he couldn’t seem to get himself to worry about it, preferring to think about whatever he and Gavin were arguing about instead.

He could feel Gavin’s breath against his neck behind him, could feel him pressing up against him, arms around Michael’s waist as he stood at the sink, washing the dishes after losing a fast bet. He had half a mind to tell Gavin to fuck off, still annoyed at his failure and his head’s pounding, but he kept him there, liking Gavin’s warm presence against his neck, enjoying how Gavin just gently pressed his lips against the place where Michael’s shoulder met his neck.

“You should rest,” Gavin repeated again, just below his ear, and Michael felt him lay his head on his shoulder and sigh.

“I have to do the dishes since I lost this fucking bet,” It came off with a lot less malice than he meant it to. Gavin still annoyed him, but there was something missing, something he couldn’t put his finger on, that prevented Michael from lacing his words with the usual irritation he could easily muster.

Gavin mumbled unintelligibly against him, not giving him a real answer, and Michael ignored it. Suddenly, it reminded him too much of before, of the time at the park, with Gavin’s head on his shoulder and him barely answering any of Michael’s questions, of the uncomfortable dream-like state that evening had been in and how he was slowly falling back into that state after what had happened earlier. He had a million questions, no answers, and was positive that Gavin didn’t know why earlier had happened either, or what ‘everything’s wrong’ had meant.

But he didn’t ask. The questions burned at his throat, begging to be released, but he changed the subject, instead, and it passed without a second thought, just like everything else, “I forgot to ask—How was that walk you took earlier?”

He felt the way Gavin froze, the way his breath hitched, how his fingers tightened momentarily on Michael’s hips, but it passed a second later, and Gavin was back to his usual self, “It was fine. Pretty nice evening.”

“That’s not really what I meant,” Michael frowned, almost turning towards him, instead throwing the pan into the drying rack with a noise that resounded throughout the apartment. “You went to go check on Dan and Geoff. How were they?”

He didn’t answer, hesitating for such a long time that Michael almost gave up on getting any words out of him, “Geoff was—Ah. Dan got into a fight.”

“ _What_?!” He whirled on Gavin and Gavin leapt away from him, backing himself up against the counter in an almost defensive way, Michael still holding a half-washed plate in his hands as he stared at Gavin in shock. “Can’t he be deported for that? Did you _stop_ him?!”

Gavin opened his mouth to speak, made a noise that sounded like a bunch of jumbled syllables, and promptly shut himself up. He seemed just as surprised at Michael as Michael was at him, the two standing as parallels, not touching.

Through the haze, Michael could still remember his friends and what they were like, and hearing something like that was definitely out of place. It did not make sense, another part that didn’t add up, just to add to all the other parts, frustrating him all the more. It didn’t make sense for Gavin to _let_ Dan get into a fight, either. Gavin was a carefree restless idiot, but he wouldn’t let something like that happen. He wouldn’t.

“He was upset, ’s all, Michael!”

“You _let_ him get into a fight. You could’ve stopped it! Why didn’t you try to stop it?!”

He didn’t know why he was so angry. He knew he shouldn’t have been yelling at Gavin. He knew he shouldn’t have been this loud. And he knew he shouldn’t have dropped the plate he was holding, and he realized it all the second it made contact with the floor, shattering into a million bits right in front of his eyes, hitting both of them with the debris. It didn’t stop him, though, from turning back to Gavin, his entire body burning with fury, white-hot, and seeing Gavin backed up against the counter, looking from the broken plate to Michael and back again. He didn’t know why he was so angry, but he _was_ fucking angry, all of the missing reactions from things he’d been completely alright with in the past day coming out in the form of this.

He’d never left that bar. He’d never gone home. There was no empty park outside of Austin.

It didn’t exist.

Gavin should’ve stopped it. He should’ve stopped that fight. He shouldn’t have come back, not after letting his best friend get away with that and he shouldn’t have come back earlier, either, after he’d watched people cry and apparently done nothing about it. He shouldn’t have been here; he shouldn’t have come back to Michael. He should’ve stopped it.

And now Michael was angry. Really angry, all of it directed at Gavin, who just stood dumbstruck in front of him, not saying a word, mouth agape, continuing to make those jumbled noises from before, just making Michael all the more angry at him. He didn’t even try to come up with any excuses for himself, not even passing it off with his usual ‘I don’t care’ attitude. He didn’t explain himself, looking at Michael with those big green eyes, lost and confused and clearly not knowing what to say to him.

“Well?!” Michael didn’t know what he wanted. Excuses, explanations, accusations—he didn’t know. He shouldn’t have been this angry. That was something he knew for certain. But he was. He was angry and he didn’t quite know at what, but he was here now, screaming at Gavin for something he didn’t even know the full story of, demanding something out of him without knowing what.

All of it led up to Gavin breaking, at he didn’t know to give. Michael demanding something out of him. It was Michael yelling and Gavin looking on confused and dumbstruck, and then it was the opposite, Gavin’s voice raising to a higher octave as he yelled back at him, his voice almost breaking and reminding Michael of his earlier screaming into the pillows in the bedroom, his tone the very same desperate and pained and everything else in between.

“I tried, Michael! I honestly, really tried. I tried as hard as I bloody could, but it wasn’t enough and I’m goddamn sorry it wasn’t. I’m sorry there was nothing I could do and I’m sorry I didn’t try hard enough and I’m sorry I was too slow and I’m—I’m sorry, alright? I’m damn _sorry_!”

Michael’s immediate reaction was guilt, leading him to change into a defensive position. Michael backed up against the counter now and Gavin as far away from him as possible in the tiny kitchenette, gripping the opposite countertop so hard Michael could see his knuckles going white. He paused, breathing hard, and Michael didn’t dare say anything else.

Something in Gavin’s face looked frightened, as if he was scared, his voice breaking as he continued to scream at him, stronger than Michael ever had been, “I could’ve stopped it; I—I know I could’ve and it’s my fault and I’m sorry I didn’t and I’m sorry for everything and if I could do it over with, I _would_ , but I _can’t_ and I don’t know what to do to make things better.”

Michael was shaking, trembling as Gavin finally stopped, wide-eyed and digging his nails into the countertop, red-faced with what definitely wasn’t anger, but some other emotion Michael couldn’t place. They weren’t talking about the fight Gavin had watched Dan get into. They weren’t talking about that and in that moment, it occurred to Michael that even during his angered yelling at him, that that had never been what they were talking about. It was something else entirely, something important that Michael felt like he’d forgotten, something that brought him back to the crystal clearness he both dreaded and craved.

He took a deep shaking breath as he watched Gavin sink to his knees in the scattered broken glass, supporting himself with his hands and staring at the broken pieces on the ground.

He didn’t want to be here. Not here with Gavin. Not here in this apartment. Not here anywhere. It was too much, and he could feel everything pressing down on him all at once, pushing to be noticed and more than anything, he needed _air_. He wasn’t angry anymore. He wasn’t seething. He was just frustrated and lost and the air was hot and charged and he just needed an out.

He ran, throwing open the door to the balcony and ducking outside, nearly drowning out Gavin’s last strangled words with the slamming of the sliding glass door.

“I wish I could make things right.”

Michael sat outside, waiting.

He waited for the haziness to come back. He waited for all of his emotions to be masked by cloudiness again. It never came, though, and it remained just as frustrating and confusing as it did before. Everything he’d seen mattered, and all of it was wrong but nothing added up. The easy naivety from before was gone, instead leaving Michael with a mind full of questions and no answers.

He sat on the balcony, forehead resting against the safety bars of the railing, feet dangling off as he stared into the empty streets below him. No one was out, the streets dead and grey, streetlight flickering on and off, the only noise in the world was the wind blowing against the buildings. He heard noises from inside too, a few things crashing in the beginning, right after Michael slammed the sliding glass door, and another strangled scream of frustration. Gavin seemed to calm down after that and instead, Michael heard footsteps and running water and Gavin cleaning up the plate Michael had shattered and whatever else he’d broken after Michael left the room.

Michael felt bad. He felt really bad, actually. He’d started their entire argument, yelling at Gavin and overreacting. It’d been odd—he didn’t know why he’d been so angry, but the anger was still there, and it was no longer directed at Gavin or because Gavin apparently hadn’t stopped Dan’s fight. It felt residual, lingering from the past two days, after all the times things had bothered him, but he’d just let them pass without even giving.

He hadn’t been himself. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been himself. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been the snarky, short-fused, blunt Michael Jones he’d always been. There was so much, all of it right in front of him, in the emptiness of the street and the way each second seemed to drag on and on, the wind blowing at him as he waited. And he’d just let it all go, like it was nothing, like it didn’t matter. It did, though. It definitely did matter, and it was making his head hurt the more he thought about it, the throbbing increasing as he leaned against the bars of the railing, eyes closed to the dead world around him, breathing slowly in and out.

Gavin had said it himself. Everything _was_ wrong.

Everything. Not even those calm moments of lying down on the couch with Gavin felt right anymore. It felt odd, out of place, and he couldn’t even begin to understand why and how he’d ever ignored it, how he’d ever just sat there and let everything pass him by. He didn’t understand what Gavin’s thoughts were when that had made him break earlier after he’d come home the first time, or why he’d never worried about his sudden flashing memories that had brought on so much pain he’d collapsed from it, or how he’d shoved it all to the back of his head.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong, and he’d been wrong to yell at Gavin like that, wrong to take his anger out on him, wrong to break that plate right in front of him, and he owed Gavin a huge apology. He owed Gavin a huge apology and then he needed to sleep, his head throbbing, his mind feeling overloaded with too much to think about at one time.

He was caught up in himself when he heard the sliding glass door open and Michael opened his eyes and looked back to see Gavin step out onto the balcony with him, sliding the door shut before sitting right beside Michael. He was close enough that Michael could feel him brush against his arm, taking some sort of comfort in his presence as he leaned his head back against the safety bars.

“Wanna drink?”

Gavin hadn’t waste any time, jumping straight to the chase, cocking an eyebrow as he held out a bottle of what looked to be some moderately strong shit from the back of Michael’s liquor cabinet. He eyed it for a long moment, and then went against his better judgment and held it to his lips, tipping his head back and taking a short swig of it, feeling the warm almost sickening alcohol hit the back of his throat a second later. He took it, as disgusting as it was, and swallowed, giving the bottle back to Gavin and wiping off his mouth.

“Shit, did you just get the nastiest thing you could find or what? Fucking _Christ,_ that shit is bad,” He was still almost gagging from the taste of it, and yet, the buzz already was setting in, forgiving him his headache and letting him be able to ignore the pain and loose his thoughts. He watched Gavin, raising his eyebrows and waiting for him to drink too, presenting him with a challenge he knew Gavin would not back down from, “Well?”

Gavin wasn’t looking at him, having focused his gaze out into the empty distance of their surroundings, and Michael allowed it, letting a long moment of silence drop between them. He kept his eyes on Gavin, waiting for him to say something, watching as he took a drink from the bottle between them, getting it down without even so much as a gag.

They sat together, not saying anything. Michael continued to watch Gavin, entranced by the way he stared out into the lifeless world, the silence between them echoed in the city below. Even the wind had died down, no longer howling against the side of the apartment complex. The air was filled with the sound of his own breathing and then Gavin’s, evidence of the only liveliness within the world Michael saw before them.

He sat with Gavin, their arms barely brushing in the space between them and without thought, without looking down, Michael’s hand found Gavin’s, their fingers intertwining. Gavin’s warmth was a comfort to him, second only to the quiet sound of his rhythmic breathing, and it made Michael not mind the silence so much. He finally let himself glance out at the rest of the world, finding it just as empty and desolate as it’d been before, but somehow, it felt more familiar than it had yesterday. It wasn’t any less strange—not at all, really—but Michael was slowly getting more used to it and with Gavin’s warm comfort next to him, his hand wrapped in Michael’s own, it felt at least manageable.

He focused back on Gavin, preferring to look at him instead of the dead world around them, instead finding Gavin doing the same thing, bright green eyes meeting and locking with his, neither one of them looking away or breaking the gaze. Gavin was close to him, his hand in Michael’s and sitting so close that their legs touched. He looked at Gavin, at those half-lidded green eyes, at his sun-kissed skin, at the way his light red lips were pulled just slightly upwards in a private, barely-there smile, and for the first time, Michael felt comfortable with where he was.

This time, it was neither. Neither one of them moved first and neither one of them kissed the other. It was together, and as Michael moved in, shifting himself so that he could better reach, he saw Gavin doing the same, moving with him and leaning forward until Michael’s lips brushed against his and he recognized the faint taste of the sour alcohol and Gavin,

Gavin,

His free hand curled against Gavin’s cheek, rubbing against the hot skin there, his thumb brushing against the stubble of unshaved hair on his chin. He kept his eyes half-open, seeing Gavin’s eyelashes flutter shut, noticing so much he hadn’t seen before. Michael found himself wanting to take everything about Gavin in, from the way he kissed him gently, leaning into it but not pressing against him, to the way he looked like this, his eyes shut, his entire body relaxed, his face so close to Michael’s that he could see even the birthmark under his left eye up close.

It was slow and tender, Gavin’s lips soft against his, and when they broke away, it seemed to be a combined effort. Michael pulled away from him enough to breathe, Gavin’s eyes blinking open, stopping Michael from moving any further away. He hesitated, surroundings slowly coming back to him, but didn’t pull back away anymore, instead leaning his head forward until his forehead rested against Gavin’s, keeping his hand on his cheek and rubbing circles on his skin with his thumb.

He let his eyes fall half-shut and felt Gavin shiver from the cold before relaxing into his touch. They stayed like that a long time, unmoving, Michael sinking into the feeling of Gavin’s breath on his skin and the quiet thumps of his heartbeat under his fingertips.

He opened his mouth, his lips barely parting as he breathed in cool air, “I’m so—” He didn’t even realize he was speaking, his voice quiet and breathy, his mind not even processing the words. There was so much he wanted to say, so much that could be said, to Gavin, to the world, just in general—but he couldn’t think of anything, and there was one phrase that kept reentering his head over and over. “—I’m so fucking sorry.”

Gavin smiled, the corners of his lightish red lips turning up at his words in neither a smirk nor a grin, and Michael was suddenly hit by the feeling that he might’ve, just might have, gotten something right. His apology felt like more than just that and because of it, Michael felt like he was in it for the long haul, like Gavin wasn’t going anywhere now, like this was Michael asking for his forgiveness and Gavin’s answer was his smile, promising that he was going to stay.

“Yeah. Me too, Michael,” Gavin murmured, closing his green eyes again, and Michael didn’t ask him what he meant.

 

 He slept better that night, after they’d moved from the balcony to the bed and fallen asleep hours later, exhausted and content, Gavin curled around him, his miles of naked long limbs tangled with Michael’s in just about every way possible.

               

 

He woke up, though, after sleeping comfortably for hours, to Gavin frantically shoving Michael off of him, which violently tore him out of his peaceful sleep.

“Fucking _Christ_!”  It was dark, Michael’s own voice breaking the silence only previously filled with the sound of sheets being rustled and thrown away from there in a fit of hysterics. He heard Gavin’s rugged breathing, the way he was panting, struggling to get himself away from Michael, getting caught in the blankets and sheets, instead creating more of a fight for himself.

“—The _hell_ , Gavin?!” It was nearly pitch black in the room, after Michael had pulled the shades to block out extra light, leaving him and Gavin in a world of darkness. He couldn’t see Gavin, only able to hear him thrashing around and feeling him squirming against him, his nails grazing his skin harshly multiple times. It all happened in a matter of a few seconds, Michael yelling into the void of the room, trying to move himself out of Gavin’s way.

“Michael, I’m—” Gavin’s voice was hoarse as he finally managed to untangle himself from Michael, and he erupted into coughs, shaking the entire bed. “I’m going to—”

Suddenly, he was on the floor, answering Michael’s unsaid ‘going to _what_?’ and Michael was able to get over and turn on the bedside lamp in time to hear Gavin cough and gag, kneeling on the floor in a way Michael had seen before whenever Gavin saw something particularly disgusting. He was less panicked now, since he partly knew what was going on, recognizing that Gavin felt sick for whatever reason and was going to throw up. He had enough time to sit on the edge of the bed and lean over to push Gavin’s messy hair out of his face, and that was it, Gavin coughing and retching under him, the sound and sight of it sickening, but Michael held out.

It didn’t take long, Gavin throwing up onto Michael’s wood floor, pausing after a few moments to cough more, shaking and fighting to hold himself up.

“Bathroom,” Michael told him almost immediately as Gavin stopped momentarily, Gavin just nodding and stumbling towards the en-suite bathroom, Michael following him and nudging him inside. He stayed, holding Gavin’s hair back again as he threw up more into the toilet, trembling and clearly suffering, coughing and gagging the entire time.

It was over pretty quickly, and Gavin collapsed against the side of the bathtub afterwards, breathing heavily, eyes tearing up from the strain of retching so much, leaning his head back against the side of the bath; staring up at the ceiling.

“You sick?” Michael asked, raising an eyebrow at him as started to clean up, shooting a glare at Gavin when he tried to get up and help.

“Nah. Just…” He trailed off, swallowing hard and then made a disgusted face for a second. “I dreamt about blood and well—you know how I am with blood and injuries and all that crap.”

Michael nodded, having cleaned up Gavin’s mess in the bathroom, leaving the main mess on his floor until he made sure Gavin was alright. “Yeah. I know you can’t take blood for _shit_ ,” He tried to joke around and got a half-smirk out of Gavin.

He’d seen Gavin throw up hundreds of times for one reason or another—even temperature change set off his goddamn gag reflex—but he’d never seen Gavin wake up sick. It was weird and concerning, and he knew for a fact that Gavin didn’t have nightmares, since Gavin had slept at Michael’s house too many times to count and never had he woken up in a fit of panic. Even at work he’d never complained of having bad dreams, though that was more understandable, since Gavin didn’t usually talk much about personal problems unless he was drunk or alone with someone he trusted.

Maybe it wasn’t that strange, but it still reminded Michael a little too much of his dreams from the previous night, of angel’s wings and blood red and phantom pain and how it had made him wake up in a state of absolute terror. Whatever had happened to Gavin felt similar, his terrified reaction close to Michael’s, even if Michael hadn’t thrown up because of it.

He didn’t give too much thought to it, though it wasn’t for the same reason he’d been ignoring everything else. He was just more concerned about Gavin, more focused on making sure he was alright. He didn’t say anything, running a cloth under the warm water from the faucet before stepping over to Gavin. He knelt down, wiping the wet cloth across Gavin’s face, forcing him to look up at Michael as he attempted to clean Gavin off. Gavin had ended up making more of a mess of himself than anything else, his face red and his breath still ragged, his shirt a mess of puke and saliva.

“Sorry.”

Gavin startled him, making him jump and take the cloth away from his face, still looking up at the ceiling. Michael couldn’t read the expression on his face, his emotions a mystery to him. Gavin himself was still very much a mystery, unpredictable and incomprehensible for the most part. He’d never seen Gavin like _this_ , his face almost solemn, eyes unfocused  and dark. Michael could tell he was somewhere else, somewhere far away from  him, somewhere unhappy that seemed to be choking the life from him.

“It’s alright,” He said it automatically, without fully knowing what Gavin was apologizing for. He just assumed it was for throwing up so suddenly. His hand found its way into Gavin’s hair, brushing through his short strands as Gavin leaned into his touch, back with him, eyes closed.

“It’s not.”

Those were words he never thought he’d hear from Gavin’s mouth. To him, everything was alright. He put on a front that nothing ever bothered him and wouldn’t admit it when something did. To hear that something actually _wasn’t_ alright in Gavin’s life—it instantly made Michael worry, his heart feeling like it’d dropped, his hand freezing in Gavin’s hair.

“It’s fine, Gav. I can clean it up,” He tried to comfort him, looking down at him. “It’s just some puke. Come on—you’ve thrown up in my apartment too many fucking times to count. It’s nothing.”

“No—That’s not it,” Gavin answered instantly, his voice quiet, almost a whisper, his accent heavy. There was no panic in it, no frantic tone. Nothing. He just sounded sad, leaning into Michael’s hand, eyes shut, his voice dripping with a sort of sadness Michael had never heard. “You don’t understand. You don’t get it. You—you don’t understand, Michael.”

He didn’t know what to say, what to tell Gavin. He’d just seen him throw up after a nightmare and now he was being told he didn’t understand and Gavin was—Gavin was _right_. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand anything. But Gavin did. Gavin knew. Gavin was living in this world with him. Everything that Michael saw that was wrong, Gavin saw too. He’d been there from the start, knowing what was going on, and yet, Gavin still had more of an understanding of everything that had happened.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Does it matter?’

It all added up to the same thing. Gavin knew. Gavin knew and Michael didn’t and Gavin knew Michael didn’t. Gavin knew he didn’t and he was admitting it now, broken and leaning on Michael. He’d known and he hadn’t told Michael and he was suddenly realizing that Gavin knew _everything_ but wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t telling him, wasn’t clearing anything up when Michael was obviously frustrated by his lack of understanding.

“Gavin.”

His tone was cold, his hand frozen in the middle of brushing through Gavin’s hair. He shivered, shaking through his entire body and Gavin knew, Gavin knew, Gavin knew, and he’d always known. Everything was beginning to add up—Gavin’s shock at his loss of memory, his constant assurance of ‘it doesn’t matter’, how he didn’t question things, the way he’d fallen apart yesterday and had offered no explanation—all of it brought Michael to the same conclusion, over and over again.

Gavin was looking up at him now, mouth half-open, eyes wide. He was no longer relaxed, sat straight up, not even touching Michael anymore, “Michael, please.”

“Please _what_?!” Michael was angry, fucking flaming _mad_. He leapt to his feet, standing in front of Gavin, hands curled into fists at his sides. Gavin didn’t follow him, still kneeling on the floor, looking up at Michael in a mixture of shock and confusion. Michael’s nails dug into the skin on his palms, his flesh on fire, every part of him suddenly uncomfortably hot. “Spit it the fuck out, Gavin.”

Gavin didn’t break eye contact with him, eyes brighter than the bathroom lights, “You don’t remember what happened.”

Of _course_ he fucking didn’t. That was the whole goddamn point. He didn’t remember and Gavin did and that was what was making him angry. He didn’t remember, and they’d established that back in the park that didn’t exist, back where Michael’s clear memory began. Gavin was just pointing out what was obvious, stating a fact Michael already knew, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t say anything after that, too shell-shocked by Gavin, and didn’t try to stop him when he went on.

He pressed forward, almost up against Michael now, never breaking eye contact, “You see, Michael, I don’t want you to remember what happened.”

 

                It rained again.

It fucking poured and thundered, clouds blocking out the sun and making the room dark and grey and the bed suddenly felt uncomfortable and stiff. Michael was alone, the spot beside him still warm, the sound of the shower blending with the rain outside.

8:47 AM.

It felt like it should’ve been later. A lot later. He stared at the clock, counting out seconds for it to change, growing increasingly more aware of his frustration with each minute that passed in his head and not in reality.

He hadn’t argued with Gavin last night. He hadn’t even expressed his anger anything past his fists balled at his side, not yelling or screaming at him like he’d wanted to. He’d just left. He’d left Gavin in the bathroom, left him alone, pulled away from him and walked away. He hadn’t said anything more. He hadn’t done anything more. He’d thrown himself down on the bed and listened to the sounds of Gavin crashing around in the bathroom, letting out a few short bursts of frustration, and then Michael had been too spent, too tired, to do anything when Gavin had eventually crawled into bed with him.

Somehow, he’d found himself pressed up against Gavin, holding him from behind, his head resting against his shoulder and he’d decided it was too cold and too lonely to move away from him, resolving to be angry at him in the morning instead. Now that Gavin was gone from the bed, away from Michael, he felt like something was missing.

He tried to pull the sheets and blankets up further, attempting to wrap himself up and pull more warmth from them. Rather, he was left still shivering and now half-awake, listening to the thunder and the rain and Gavin in the bathroom, staring at his bedside table, watching the clock and counting each blink of the notification light on his phone.

On, off, on,

His phone. He was suddenly wide-awake, the slowly changing numbers on the clock completely forgotten about. He was awake and flooded by the same frustrations, the same anger he’d felt all last night flooding back to him and taking away his early-morning ignorance. Gavin was _purposefully_ keeping him in the dark.

He didn’t want Michael to know. He’d said that last night and Michael hadn’t asked why. He’d been too furious to and had just walked away from Gavin, not wanting to see his stupid fucking face anymore or hear that goddamn voice or be reminded of him in any way at all. He didn’t want to talk to him now, either, not after last night.

It wasn’t fucking _fair_. Nothing was fair. There was something really, horribly wrong, something that was slowly working its way into every aspect of his life, and Gavin knew what it was but had made the decision not to tell him. Gavin. It all came back to him, no matter how many times Michael ran over it in his head. Gavin was here and Gavin had been the only person he’d seen since this entire thing happened. He remembered other people—Geoff, Dan, Lindsay, Barbara, everyone else they worked with—but his real, tangible life that he could clearly remember started that day in the park with Gavin and he hadn’t spoken to, heard from, or even seen anyone since then. The city streets were empty, the rest of his building silent, the only evidence that there were other people in the world came from Michael’s blurry memories and the few minutes of news coverage he’d watched when Gavin had left.

Gavin hadn’t even gone back home. Michael had told Gavin not to leave, to stay here with him. It was weird—Gavin and Michael in this LSD-esque reality together, seemingly alone, and Michael couldn’t think of anything more terrifying than this, than the empty streets outside, than the idea that all those buildings, the place he worked, the apartments next to his, were completely empty.

His hands shook violently as he slowly sat up and reached for his cell phone, sat on his bedside table, the notification light on it still blinking, on, off, on, off, on—on—on

He wanted to go back to his old life, where everything was fine and his biggest worry was how late he had to stay to finish editing a video. That part of him was so far away, so distanced from now, and all Michael wanted to do was reach out and grab onto that part and hold it so that it couldn’t get away from him again. He’d been _happy_. Really fucking happy. He had a great job, found a family within his coworkers, and that night—that night in the bar, before all this, he’d found the final piece to the puzzle and had kissed Gavin and everything had been great in that world and now _nothing was_.

Michael held his phone in his hands, fingers running over the smooth surface of it, both his hands shaking. The light went on then off and back on again, blinking and tempting and he’d stopped listening to the rain against the walls or the shower running in the other room and he’d stopped thinking about how mad he was at Gavin and how much he hated being lied to. His entire world rested here, in his hands, with the light blinking on and off and something screamed at him, telling him not to do it, telling him not to reach out of this world, not to step outside of his little reality here with Gavin.

                But the rational part of his mind told him to do it, since there was no real reason he shouldn’t and there was nothing wrong. He listened to that part, shoving everything else into a category of irrational fears and thoughts and for the first time in what felt like forever, he opened up to his lock screen, immediately met with dozens of messages, emails, voicemails, and social media notifications.

No—There were hundreds of them, too many to count, all people trying to get a hold of him, and he had no idea how, no idea why, and no idea where to even begin going through them all. It’d only been three days. Why were people trying to contact him so much? It hadn’t even been that long, and though it was strange Michael hadn’t even spoken to another person, he’d assumed that if something was _really_ wrong, someone would’ve come looking for him. That was how it went. People called and when they didn’t answer, people looked and worried and searched. They weren’t going to leave him be, because he was right here, right in his apartment, staring at the hundreds of messages he had on his phone, unable to comprehend them all.

There had to be some sort of explanation. Something had to give.

Michael, Gavin, Dan, Geoff, Lindsay, Barbara. The six of them had been together that night at the bar. The last thing he had was a confused memory from that night:  having his arm around Gavin’s waist and laughing with everyone else. He’d never left. He’d never gone to that park. That morning had never dawned.

Michael: We’re at sixth street for post-podcast bevs if you wanna come

Lindsay: Alright! I’ll be there soon!

Lindsay: Bringing Barbara!

Lindsay: Oh my god Michael tell me what I heard isnt true

Lindsay: Michael…

Lindsay: Oh my god no no no…

Barbara: Coming with Linds for drinks

Michael: Great. Ask the rest of the podcast crew if they wanna come. I’ve got Geoff, Gav, and Dan.

Barbara: Cool, leaving now

Barbara: Where’s Gavin?

Barbara: Where are you?

Barbara: Come ON Michael this is important

Barbara: ANSWER ME

Barbara: That person was you.

Barbara: Tell me that person wasn’t you tell me that wasn’t Gav

Barbara: Oh god Michael

There were no dates on the messages. He couldn’t tell when they were sent or when he’d received them. He stared at each conversation, barely breathing, not moving, almost able to feel his heart stopping. He’d gone to Lindsay and Barbara first, thinking they were the most reliable and easy to understand and he’d been left in even worse shape than before. They were both panicked, both saying similar things, both of them begging him to reassure them when he didn’t even understand what it was.

He tapped the screen, looking blankly at the touch keyboard that came up, his mind unable to process the lines of the letters, not forming words or sentences or anything intelligent at all.  
The phone buzzed in his hands, a new message coming up, and Michael mouthed the words as he read them.

Service: Your service will be disconnected in 2 days.

Disconnected disconnected disconnected…

disconnect

discon…

Then, there was nothing.

There was no color, no warmth, no space. He was still in his room, still sitting on his bed, still holding his phone in his hands, but the color had drained even farther out of everything but his own self, leaving him in a world of complete greyscale and disconnect. The bed suddenly felt like rock beneath him, his phone feeling neither hot nor cold. He looked up, his eyes huge, everything shades of grey, not even the desaturated color he remembered from the last few days. Grey. Everything was grey and dead and Michael felt like he was the only thing here, the only thing still living and when he closed his eyes, all he saw was white, and he felt a horrific pain’s conception at the bottom of his spine, racing up his nerves and nothing was alright and everything was wrong and

 

The burning sensation in his hands was gone, his phone torn out of his grasp, and it only took the deafening crack right above his head to ground him again, bringing him violently down to earth. His phone hit the wall to his side, right above the headboard of the bed, hitting it with a sickening _crack_ that broke it instantly, spraying Michael with plastic debris.

“What are you _doing_?!” Gavin’s voice was shrill, screaming at him in what was unmasked fear, and he was grabbing Michael’s wrist, nails digging into the skin so much that Michael glanced down to see blood beading at the place Gavin had his nails.

He hadn’t heard Gavin approaching and he hadn’t thought to hide what he was doing and he knew now what had happened, knowing Gavin had yelled his name the second he’d seen him and a moment later, he’d taken Michael’s phone from him and thrown it against the wall. Michael looked at Gavin’s hands, how he’d tugged him off the bed, forcing him to stand up, pulling him back into himself until Michael _finally_ felt like he was fitting the form he remembered, and he was finally Michael Jones again, finally himself.

Michael was himself and Gavin had him trapped, pinned in a way Michael hated, holding his wrists so tightly that his nails were cutting into him, and Michael knew it was just a matter of time—Gavin would let go of him eventually. The blood would make him sick and he was fucking _weak_ and wouldn’t be able to hold his ground for long, even if he didn’t care that he was hurting Michael.

But he wasn’t waiting for that.

He wasn’t going to sit here and wait for Gavin to realize what he was doing. He’d already done it, Gavin’s rash mind thinking before he could catch up with it, and Michael wasn’t having it. He wasn’t putting up with it, not with Gavin doing this to him and not with him not telling Michael what had gone on . He was going to get it out of him and he was goddamn determined to do it.

He tore himself from Gavin’s grip, looking shocked, eyes wide and glancing quickly from his bloodied fingers to Michael’s arms and back to Michael’s face. He didn’t make any move to grab at him again, not actually doing _anything_ to Michael, just standing there completely dumbfounded.

Their eyes met and that was the instant Gavin started backing up, holding Michael’s gaze, slowly backing down from him. Michael understood why immediately—he was fucking _furious_. He breathed hard, scowling at Gavin, his eyes narrowed in a glare, staring right into Gavin’s green eyes, everything surrounding them black, white, grey.

Gavin was colorful, vibrant, _alive_.

And yet, at that moment, Michael didn’t care.

He didn’t care because that wasn’t comforting now. He didn’t care because Gavin’s warmth wasn’t enough. He didn’t care because Gavin had been leading him on this entire time, fully aware of their situation, whatever it was, and wasn’t telling Michael. Gavin didn’t _want_ him to remember, leading him through a false reality and trying to make it seem like everything was alright. He’d made the choice _for_ Michael, rather than letting him make it himself, forcing Michael to go along with what he’d wanted this entire time, all because he didn’t want Michael to remember anything.

“What the hell are you _doing_ , Gavin?!” He screamed at him as Gavin kept stepping back, raising his hands in a sort of defeat, the blood from the scratches on Michael’s wrist still on his fingernails. “Breaking my phone like that—What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!”

“I— I—Michael, I’m—” He stuttered, making stupid sounds with his stupid mouth, not making any coherent sentences. Michael didn’t advance on him and Gavin stopped trying, stopped backing away from him, stopped talking.

“Spit it out, you piece of shit!” Michael screamed at him, knowing now that there was no one else around to hear it, not caring otherwise.

“I—Michael, what did you see?” He didn’t sound accusatory, his voice anything but. He was panicking, his hands and his voice shaking, his accent considerably thicker and tone higher-pitched until Gavin was nearly squeaking the words out at him. He was completely panicked and part of it—probably a huge part, actually—was due to Michael standing here, angry at _him_ rather than at the world, and Gavin clearing knowing just how guilty he was.

And that pissed him off even more. Gavin wasn’t making any attempt to apologize or acknowledge that he was wrong. He was just continuing on, trying to stop Michael from getting what he wanted, preventing him from putting those final pieces of the puzzle together. It was _Gavin_ he’d taken comfort in earlier, _Gavin_ who’d provided the warmth and distraction to Michael’s frustration, _Gavin_ who’d been here for him this entire time and now, Michael felt like he was taking the side of the villain. He’d taken comfort in Gavin _because_ he’d provided that distraction, because he’d told Michael that everything that was wrong didn’t matter, because Gavin had tried to stop him from finding anything out, and now the world was black, white, and grey and the color Gavin gave off seemed to burn their surroundings, scorching them until Michael could feel the fire in every nerve of his body, burning him alive.

Gavin was trying to keep the fantasy up, even if he wasn’t consciously doing it to harm Michael, and Michael had just taken a step outside of this and into the reality he knew and he wasn’t going back.

He wasn’t going to slip into that burning house again. He wouldn’t let himself. He was finally back, finally himself, finally Michael Jones, and he wasn’t going to let that slip from his hands again.

 

He felt the entire world shift around him as he said it, the silence that fell deafening to his ears. He wanted to scream at Gavin, to just let everything out and make sure he knew exactly how Michael felt, but he didn’t. He wanted Gavin out. He didn’t want him here and he didn’t particularly care where he went. He couldn’t stay here, though, not with the effect he had on Michael and with the way he was trying to make everything alright. He had to go. If Michael was going to figure this out, Gavin had to go.

“Out.”

 

“What—?” Gavin’s voice was quiet, astonished at Michael.

Michael repeated himself, looking Gavin right in the eyes, “Get. Out.”

The panic returned to Gavin’s face, flooding his eyes, and Michael wanted nothing more than to hit him, to just reel back and punch him right in the fucking face because this was all Gavin’s fault and Gavin wouldn’t leave him alone and it was his fault, his fault, his _fault_.

“No—Michael—” Gavin wasn’t going anywhere, louder as the panic seeped into his voice and it was the closest to him breaking that Michael had ever heard, closer even than when he’d come home drenched. This wasn’t angry. It wasn’t sad. It was pure, whole desperation and panic. He didn’t want to go.

“Fucking leave!” Michael was done being nice, back to shouting, cursing at Gavin and running his mouth, saying whatever came to his mind. He’d broke before Gavin did, his filter gone, feeling every emotion at once and wanting everything to just go away. “You’re giving me a goddamn headache! Get the fuck out if you’re not going to do anything! Get out—go! Just fucking _leave_ , you piece of shit!”

“No—Michael— _please_ ,” He was using that annoying tone again, the one Michael associated with his whining. He’d never heard him beg before, but it was the same irritating, high-pitched tone from before. “Michael, please. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Bullshit!” He didn’t think about it, didn’t let the silence fall between them again, keeping up the fight. “Go back to where you fucking _live_. Go back to Geoff’s house. I don’t care where you go; just _go_!”

“I can’t,” Michael heard Gavin’s breath hitch and saw the way he looked away from Michael, instead staring at his floor, at his feet, anywhere but at him. “I can’t. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t go back to Geoff’s house and I can’t go anywhere else. Michael, please don’t make me go. Please. Please don’t leave me.”

Michael had no words. He had no more insults or demands or anything at all because Gavin was on his knees now on the ground, looking up at Michael with an expression that he’d never seen before, neither on Gavin nor on anyone else. He wanted to think that Gavin was lying, that he didn’t mean what he said, that he just wanted to stay with Michael because he got some sort of sadistic enjoyment in leading Michael into thinking that everything was alright. But looking at him now, as Gavin begged him to not make him leave, he didn’t see Gavin as someone who was trying to hurt him, someone who was selfish and horrible. This was Gavin, the Gavin he knew, Gavin when his façade was stripped away, when he was weak and vulnerable and everything he usually tried to hide.

“Don’t leave me, Michael,” His voice was breaking, cracking his façade the rest of the way, making Michael torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to hold him and tell him he wouldn’t leave. He did neither, stuck between the two, unable to move or speak or even think. He stood there, in front of Gavin, breathing slowly, his heart fast in his chest.

“Michael, please—”

“Tell me.”

Ignorance had always been a thing Michael hated.

‘Ignorance is bliss’ was a bunch of grade A bullshit. Ignorance was shit. Ignorance was not knowing what was going on and ignoring it all and Michael Jones could not live in ignorance and he couldn’t continue to live with Gavin Free, who was the literal embodiment of naivete.

“—Please don’t leave.”

“Gavin,” He was the calmest he’d been since starting this whole fight with Gavin. He said his name firmly, not yelling or insulting him, only trying to get him to focus on what Michael was asking. Gavin was panicked, his breathing labored, his entire body shaking, eyes watering, and Michael couldn’t tell if Gavin was actually _crying_ or if he was just so far into having a panic attack that his eyes were watering.

“Please don’t make me say it,” Gavin breathed, tears running down his face, streaking down his cheeks and leaving trails on his skin.

“Come on, Gav,” He was trying to get him to calm down, knowing he was too erratic to tell Michael anything. “We never left that bar, Gavin. We never went to any park together. We never left; I know we didn’t. What fucking happened?”

A single bit of silence fell between them. One beat, a moment in time where everything was still and clear, where the world really, truly seemed to stand still. He looked at the tears running down Gavin’s face, the way he was so bright against the grey, the colorlessness of everything else around them, the lack of warmth—everything. It all felt so strangely normal and in that moment, he wondered when he’d stopped being shocked at it. Nothing surprised him anymore; it all just worked to frustrate him, everything that was wrong not shocking him but rather making him miss his reality, his world, his _life_ all the more.

He missed the color. He missed the warmth. He missed his family, his friends. He missed Gavin. He missed everything. He missed it so fucking much and he just wanted to go home and this wasn’t his home—it never had been. This was just—just some distorted, shitty rendition of his apartment.

“We left.”

He barely heard Gavin’s voice. It was hardly audible, a whisper against the storm of the world around them.

“We left. We left the bar.”

(Gavin’s lips on his, a smile tugging at his lips, the night air around them cold.)

No, no, no, no.

No no no no

They hadn’t left. They never had. He didn’t remember. They couldn’t have left. He couldn’t remember it. They hadn’t. _They’d never walked outside that fucking door_.

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, louder than anything he’d ever heard before, thunder to the little whisper of Gavin’s voice. There was a hole in his chest, sucking all the life out of him and he suddenly wanted to tell Gavin to stop, suddenly understanding why, why he’d kept all this from him, why he’d insisted everything had been fine. He understood the concept, but he couldn’t comprehend the words to explain it, and deep inside him, a feeling arose,  feeling he remembered somehow of fear, deep and life-threatening and—

He had to run. He had to get away before Gavin said it. He couldn’t stay here. Fight or flight and Michael needed away now.

 

But he needed to hear it. He couldn’t keep this up.

 

“We died, Michael.”

 

Colors burst before him, the world in a new vibrancy Michael couldn’t have ever imagined, blooming right before his eyes and spreading across the room. It was more than he’d ever remembered, colors and values forgotten in the dullness and greyscale, shoved to the back of his memory and grown so old that it was new to him, every color entrancing him as life flourished before him. He watched it happen, watching everything  with his own eyes as it came to life, the colors around them finally matching Gavin’s and his vibrancy, making them fit in with their surroundings at last.

Rain roared against the roof and the side of the apartment, thunder rolling close by. The sounds of Michael’s surroundings filled his ears, muffled car engines and horns and the sounds of life filtering into the mix, fading in with the colors until Michael was part of a world of life, a world he vaguely remembered, a world with color and warmth and sound and still, somehow, it didn’t feel _right_.

 

“We died that night.”

 

Gavin kept talking, whispering, louder than the noise from outside, the noise that now surrounded them. Michael still didn’t understand, Gavin’s words nothing but nonsense to him, a mess of jumbled syllables and noises he didn’t get. He struggled to understand, trying to wrap his mind around it and it took one more time, one more repetition from Gavin, his words plain and simple.

“We’re dead, Michael.”

 


End file.
